Micah - Laurell K. Hamilton [29]
The thought stopped me literally in my tracks. What I hadn’t realized was that Franklin was following me, close. I hadn’t even known he was there.
He ran into me, or nearly. He had to grab my arms to keep from smacking into the back of me. It startled both of us. He apologized before I’d finished turning around.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were . . . stopping.” He sounded breathless and way more upset than he should have been.
I was left staring up at him, wondering why he was nervous. Then I saw what he was doing with his hands. He was running them up and down the sleeves of his trench coat, as if he’d touched something and was trying to wipe it off. He wasn’t being insulting. I doubt he even realized he was doing it. I might have done the same thing if I’d touched someone else’s magic unexpectedly. It was like walking through metaphysical cobwebs; you had to brush it off. He had felt at least some of the power I was getting off the graves.
I might have asked Franklin why he’d been hiding that he was psychic, but Fox and Micah came up to us, and somehow I didn’t think Franklin would want me being that insightful in front of them. Had he told the FBI that he was talented? I was betting not. It had been a plus in only the last two, three years tops. Before that they looked at it as a psychological disorder. You didn’t get to be a federal agent with a psychological disorder.
It did explain why he had a serious dislike of me. If he was hiding what he was, he wouldn’t want to be around someone who complemented his talents, whatever they might be. No, if you were hiding, you didn’t want to be around people who were out of the broom closet, as it were.
“Is there a problem?” Fox asked.
Franklin said, “No, no problem,” a little too fast.
I just shook my head, still looking up at the taller man.
I don’t think Fox believed us, but he let it go. We weren’t talking, so he was out of options. He gave us both a look, then said, “Then if there’s no problem, everyone is waiting for us.”
I nodded again, then thought to ask, “Is Rose’s grave the newest one in this cemetery?”
Fox thought about it, then nodded. “Yes, why?”
I smiled at him and knew that it was a dreamy smile, as if I were listening to music he couldn’t hear. “Just wanted to know what I was looking for, that’s all.”
“I can take you to the grave, Marshal. You don’t need to look for it.”
I wanted to look for it. I wanted to walk the cemetery a tombstone at a time and find it myself.
Micah answered for me. “That would be good, Fox. Lead the way.”
I looked at him and fought to make it friendly. He gave me a look in return that was a warning. In the dark, with all the trees around, I doubted anyone else could have seen his expression as clearly as I did. But we both had better-than-normal night vision, though I doubted mine could compare to his kitty-cat eyes. Those eyes were bare for all to see now. Too dark for his black-lensed sunglasses, but you’d be surprised how many people wouldn’t notice the strangeness of his eyes. Even in full light, a lot of people wouldn’t see his eyes for what they were. People see what they want to see, unless forced to see the truth.
I looked full into his eyes and read the warning there, the worry. Was I really all right? the look asked.
The truth was yes and no. I felt great, but it was the kind of great that could go south fast and hard. One minute fine, the next moment the power could do something unfortunate.
I took a deep breath and tried to center and ground, the way I’d been taught, but that was a skill I’d learned from a psychic and witch. Her talents ran to prophecy and empathy so finely tuned it was almost telepathy. She didn’t raise the dead. She didn’t truly understand my talent.
Drawing myself into the center of my body was great—I felt